Fifty Christmases Ago
by Michael Jackson Fanfiction
Summary: A Michael Jackson fic. Memories of each of Michael's Christmases in no particular order. Some will be short, some long, some sad, some joyful, romantic, loving, or funny. Just remembering Michael in this very special day.
1. Thirty Fifth Christmas

Neverland sings of Christmas. A towering tree is draped in tinsel and decorations. Colorfully wrapped gifts are piled underneath. It smells like cinnamon and hot chocolate and gingerbread men, sounds like a small train chugging it's way through the house, and music boxes tinkling out Good King Wenceslas. Outside, it's dark and chilly, a smiling snowman welcoming in to the warm home, lit up early in the morning.

"Okay, ready?" Elizabeth giggles, excited. "Oh, wait! I want to say something first. Point the camera towards me."

Frank complies, and she begins. "It is 1993 and this will be Michael Jackson's very first Christmas. it has taken me, I think, five years of talking him into celebrating Christmas at Neverland because I understood that if you were a Jehoviah's Witness they don't celebrate Christmas. When he quit being a Jehoviah's Witness, I said to Michael, I think Christmas is a wonderful way of celebrating love, it's a celebration of love. And I can't see Christmas without Michael, or Michael without Christmas."

She laughs. "Okay, that's enough of an introduction. I think I'm too used to doing these speeches. Come on!" She leads him down the cluttered hallway to Michael's room.

"Michael?" She calls, knocking on the bedroom door. "Michael?" She makes her voice rough and scary, imitating old Dickens plays. "It's the spirit of Christmas, come to haunt you!"

Michael inside lies fast asleep, sprawled over the covers in red silken pajama bottoms and a white short-sleeved undershirt. He usually finds it difficult to get to sleep, but when he's not touring, and it's a cold winter's night, it feels so good to be warm and inside his Neverland home with his best friends that he instantly falls asleep and stays in bed late into the morning.

The pounding on the door jerks him awake. "Michael..." Elizabeth calls, and he smiles. He knew she must have been planning something like this. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, rolls off of the bed, and pulls on the matching pajama top, grabbing his hat as he pushes the door open, smiling at the sight of Elizabeth.

"Don't jump at the sight of my little dog," she mocks. The small white poodle is jumping at his leg frantically. He giggles; Liz always makes fun of him for his fear of dogs, but although they're little they can bite. He dodges the poodle deftly in socked feet and follows her to the main room, putting on his hat.

He gasps at the sight of the room. Everything is covered in Christmas; it's a changed house. "Oh my God, it's incredible," he breathes. "I can't believe this." He walks around, touching, looking, listening, feeling the branch of the Christmas tree, like he's never felt it before. "This is the first time."

He gazes around him in awe and notices a wrapped present on the coffee table, a smile widening on his face.

"That's yours," Elizabeth laughs.

"Santa came?" he asks innocently, face alight.

"Santa from Bel Air," Elizabeth jokes.

"Santa from Bel Air?" He walks over and picks it up. "I open it?" His hands and voice are hesitant, awed.

"Sure."

He smiles and begins to rip it open.

"Oh my God, Elizabeth, I love it!"

"Shh," she whispers, "don't let Frank see what it is." He laughs and covers it with the wrappings.

"Okay, Michael, you've opened your first present, now you have to go get dressed."

He pouts. "But I want to open my presents!"

"Go put on your clothes, and you can open them. As amazing as you look in pajamas, we want to be distinguished adults, don't we?"

He giggles. "Of course, Elizabeth, of course." He runs to the bedroom, slams the door, and comes out minutes later in his lopsided hat, red buttoned shirt, and black pants. "Ready!"

"Okay. Frank has one for you, don't you?"

As Frank digs through the pile of gifts, Michael plays with Elizabeth's puppy, trying to put a gift bow on it's head, laughing as it runs around him and flinching back when it nips. Frank hands him the gift, and he rips it open. It's a red sweater, Michael's favorite color.

"Ooooh, love it," he says, feeling the soft fleece and holding it up against himself. "I'm gonna put it on right now." He pulls it over his head, attempts to pull his head through the arm sleeve, and emerges, laughing, with his hat fallen off and his hair messed up.

Elizabeth laughs at the sight of him. "Quick, Frank, film him. Film him like that right now."

"No!" Michael jumps up, pushing the camera to point at Elizabeth, smoothing his hair down. "I have beautiful hair, Elizabeth, don't try to defame it. You'll never take away from it's beauty."

"Okay, okay," she says. "Frank, camera back at Michael. You realize you're photographing me without any makeup on?"

"It's videotaping, not photographing. Come on, Elizabeth, get out of the fifties."

"This is the man who still thinks he's about four years old."

"And I'm getting presents to match. Oooh, look!" He rips the wrapping paper off a large box. "Love it. Super soaker! Now I know how I'm going to wake up Elizabeth tomorrow."

"How?"

He holds up the box, taunting her. She snorts. "You're awful, Michael. Oh, God. A shooting gallery."

Michael throws wrapping paper at her, uncovering another box. "This is a super soaker! I can feel it and tell." He rips off the paper. "What did I tell you?"

Frank chuckles. "Why do you need two?"

"You'd ask me that, Frank? Haven't I soaked you too many times for you to ask me that?" He picks up another box, and Elizabeth snatches it out of his hands.

"I want a squirt gun. I want a squirt machine gun," she pouts, hugging it to her chest.

"She's snatching presents!" Michael whines, pointing at her. "She's snatching presents!" He yanks it out of her hands.

"Please, Michael?"

"Fine." He hands it to her, and she unwraps it to find out it's a Disney Princess playset.

"Aww, I wanted that." He digs out another box, and giggles; he can see what it is through the badly wrapped paper at the top. "I have this one, it's for you, but can I have it?" he asks Elizabeth, smiling.

"Yes."

"Thank you." He begins to pull off the ribbon.

"What is it?"

"It's a water gun," he laughs, ducking his head.

"How do you know it's a water gun?"

"Cause I see at the top." He shows her the words "SUPER SOAKER" visible at the top of the box, then rips off the paper.

"That's not fair!"

"It's a super soaker!" he crows, pulling it out in triumph.

"You're such a cheater, Michael."

"I know I am!" He giggles and then his face freezes.

What is he doing?

* * *

Michael sits in the bathroom, knees pulled up to his chest, tears silently pouring down, guilt pounding at his chest. Elizabeth and Frank are in the living room, and they've invited friends to come over for a snowy Super Soaker fight, but he can't make himself get up.

This was wrong. He knew it was wrong, he's always known it was wrong. Just being woken up by his best friend, seeing Neverland decorated and transformed into such a beautiful wonderland, made him forget. How could he forget about his values, his beliefs? Just because he's left Jehoviah's Witnesses doesn't mean he doesn't still believe in the truths he was taught.

He pulls at his hair. No. No. No. No. How could he have enjoyed this? Let himself go and enjoy this base pleasure?

He cries, opens his mouth and sobs, stifling the noise with his hands. He doesn't want to stifle it, he wants to scream his guilt, but he doesn't want his friends to feel bad either.

It's so difficult to make moral decisions. He knows celebrating birthdays and Christmas is wrong, idolatry, disrespecting Jesus, and that's the last thing he wants to do. Yet it makes him feel so happy, light, carefree. Sometimes it's so hard to not just give into his emotions.

Elizabeth always told him to celebrate it. She said it was a beautiful holiday, that Christmas wasn't Christmas without him, and that he wasn't himself without Christmas. And sometimes her words tugged at him, made him think it might be worth it--and then later he'd be wracked with guilt over even considering it.

He looks at his face in the mirror. His eyes look black with sin and regret.

Just half an hour ago he was the happiest man on earth. Of course it never lasts.

He sinks down on the cold tiled bathroom floor, wanting the chilliness to numb his thoughts. The child in him is pushed aside, it's laughing voice silenced, so that the grown man can hate himself with complicated thoughts.

"Michael?" He can hear Elizabeth's voice outside the bathroom door, but he ignores it. "Michael?" She's worried now, the light joy that had been in it all morning stifled with anxiety. He hates that his sadness depresses everyone around him. And again, he feels guilty. "Are you in there? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he forces out, and his voice sounds croaky. Like he's been crying. Elizabeth's known him for as long as he can remember; she'll know what that voice means, and he cringes from it.

"Michael, you're not beating yourself up in there, are you?"

He presses my lips together.

"Because you know you have no reason to be. We all love you, and I saw how you were like this morning. You loved it. You felt true joy. There's no reason God would want to keep you from feeling that, and there's no way that it's wrong."

He gets up and pushes the lock on the bathroom door. It clicks. Soon he can feel her presence disappear, and he's alone again.

He feels the tears on his cheeks. They're cold and dry. He turns on the sink and splashes water on his face, letting it run through his fingers until it washes away all the confusion and lies.

Elizabeth's right. She's always right; she's always been the best friend she's ever had who's never told him anything but the truth.

And he forces a smile onto his face, makes sure his eyes aren't red from the crying, and emerges from the bathroom.

* * *

"You okay, Michael?" Elizabeth asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He flashes an unconvincing smile at her.

"Are you sure?" She sees right through him, and both of them know it.

"As good as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Well then..." she reaches behind her back for something, "Merry Christmas!" She blasts him with a Super Soaker, and he shrieks, jumping back.

"Ahaaaaa! Gotcha!" she yells, grinning, and chases him onto the lawn.

"Liz! No, please! I don't have any defense! This is brutal injustice!" He dodges her, runs back to the porch, and grabs his own super soaker, his wet hair swinging in front of his face. She blasts him again and he barely dodges. "Oh, no you don't." He smiles evilly and begins to chase her around the lawn, giggling and screaming. Finally they both collapse into the snow, staring up at the white sky.

"You okay now, Michael?"

He takes a second, and then answers truthfully. "Yeah. Thanks, Elizabeth. I love you."

"Love you more."

"Love you most." He turns his head and gives her a mischievous glance, then runs his hands through the wet hair. Winter is not ideal Super Soaker weather, and now he's shivering, but the warmth inside him, the child inside him will not let him feel anything but comfortable happiness.

Elizabeth giggles. "There's the smile I love. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Christmas is nothing without you, Michael."

They get up and let themselves into the house, where Frank has poured them hot chocolate. Michael finally feels the cold and wraps his long fingers around the steaming mug, letting the homey chocolate smell warm his face. "I'm nothing without Christmas," he says, and he knows it is true.

* * *

**(a/n) Okay, you all know this one already. But some of these memories will be from actual events, some made up, whatever. I hope to include 50 chapters before this upcoming Christmas. Some of them will be emotional, some happy, some sad, some romantic, you know. This is different from some other fics I've been planning... just let me know if you want me to continue. And feel free to request a particular Christmas for the next one. (:**


	2. Twenty Sixth Christmas

Michael looks out the window and smiles. He's in an unfamiliar hotel that doesn't smell like home, and the air feels prickly and chilly, but the view from this window is startlingly beautiful. It looks out at a large Los Angeles park, which would be grassy if it were not covered in snow.

Michael wants to jump out the window, land in the snow, roll around and play. But he knows that if he could, he would never do it. It's too pristine. Too beautiful. Just the sparkling endless white that seems like it could go on forever.

The phone rings, jerking his gaze away from the window, and he quickly scoots over to it through the high carpet. "Hello?" He turns so that the phone is held onto his ear by his shoulder and he can continue looking out the window.

"Hi, Michael." A smile splits his face, and his eyes brighten, sparkling like the snow outside.

"Brooke! Hi! You don't usually call this early."

"I don't, do I?" she chuckles. "It's Christmas; I had to see what Santa brought me, silly."

"And what did he bring you?"

"Well, I'm waiting to see, aren't I? Do you want to do something this evening?"

"For Christmas?"

"Well, yeah. Or not, if you don't want to, I know your religion thing..."

"It's okay, I don't mind. That'd be great." He's smiling just thinking about it. "Can you come over now?"

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. Take a walk in the park or something?"

"Sure."

His tone turns worried. "Are you sure you don't want to do something more Christmas-ey? We can go to one of the Christmas parties if you like..."

"No, it's fine. I like spending time with you, Michael, and I love the simple things you think up. I'll see you in about half an hour, then? I'm already dressed, just have to drive over there."

"Sure."

"Merry Christmas, Michael."

He smiles. "Merry Christmas, love." A click sounds in his ear and he sits there a few seconds, simply leaning his head against the earpiece like he can hear the echoes of his girlfriend's voice.

And then he catches what she's just said. i"I'll see you in about half an hour, then?"/i

He drops the phone on the floor and jumps up, looking at himself. All he has on are socks and his white boxers. Does he want Brooke to see him like this? iWell, that's another question,/i a sneaky voice says instead his head, but he's too frantic to listen to it.

He pulls open the closet, but he's only been in the hotel one night so he hasn't unpacked yet, and it's empty except for a few wire hangers. "Ugh!" he yells out, digging under the bed for his suitcase. "Where is it?" he mutters furiously, sliding underneath it and sneezing at the cobwebs. Underneath he finds yesterday's pants which he threw there last night, but no suitcase.

Everyone always told him keeping the room messy was going to get him back someday. Well, now it has.

He pulls on the wrinkled pants, then continues to search the hotel room for the suitcase. Or clothes. Any clothes. Runs into the bathroom. Could he have absentmindedly left his suitcase in the shower somehow? iIt's been known to happen./i

Someone raps on the door, and Michael mutters something that he would never had said in public.

"Michael, you in there?" The knocking increases, and he glances around the room frantically. "Michael?"

"Hang on, Brooke, I have an... an issue..."

"What's wrong?"

"Um..." He's blushing, even though she can't see him. "I can't find my clothes..."

"So what, are you in there stark naked?"

His cheeks flame up. "Well, no, I've got pants on..."

"Oh, calm down, Michael, I've seen you shirtless before. Come on, let me in."

He unlocks the door and tries to hide behind it as she opens the door, but she pulls it closed, and stands there laughing at him. "You look very sexy shirtless, Michael, don't be embarrassed."

He blushes. "Okay, Brooke, you can stop laughing at me and help me find my suitcase."

"How do you lose a suitcase?"

"I don't know! I already checked in the shower, where it usually is, but..."

"Why don't you forget about the suitcase?" She steps up to him and kisses him gently. "It's Christmas... you can go without a shirt for a day."

"But if we're walking in the park," he mumbles against her lips, "won't people talk..."

She laughs and pulls away. "Only you. Walking around in a freezing snowy park without clothes, and you wonder whether people will italk/i. Come on. I'll give you my present." She pulls out a long thin rectangular package. "It's for you."

He takes it. "Brooke, you didn't have--"

"You got me something too, don't lie, so don't even finish that sentence, Michael."

He blushes again. "It was supposed to be a surprise!"

"Yeah, okay. Open it!"

He pulls off the wrapping paper and lifts off the cover to the box to find a beautiful jacket, black on the outside and silver on the inside. Embroidered on the inside right where his heart would be when buttoned up in the front is, "Loving you forever, Brooke Shields."

"Oh my God, Brooke, I love it!"

"Now you have something to wear," she laughs.

He giggles and pulls it on, grabbing his sunglasses from the table next to him. "Okay, I'm ready."

hr

Brooke and Michael wander along the path, holding hands silently. They're surprised fans have not found them yet, since only a few sparse tree trunks litter the wide snowy park, and everything is completely visible. Yet somehow it's peaceful and quiet, and nothing will disturb them.

"Brooke?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"You look beautiful." He smiles and pulls her shoulder close against him, strolling with her by his side.

"So do you." She leans her head against him, and he wraps his arm around her. She can feel his warmth through the jacket, and giggles quietly when she remembers he's wearing nothing underneath.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," and they walk in silence for some time.

"Don't you love it?" he asks suddenly.

"What?"

He takes his arm off her shoulders to gesture around to the snowy landscape, then returns it to her. "This. All this. I don't know how to describe it, but it just feels so..."

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas..." Brooke sings softly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's lovely, and that's not hardly a good term for it. I love white Christmases. They look so perfect. Feel so perfect."

"Feels like it'll last forever."

"Exactly."

Then they've completed the full circle of the park path, and stroll back up to Michael's hotel room. There's white dusty snowflakes all over Michael's jacket and Brooke's hair, but they don't bother to brush it off, so it lays there, undisturbed. They reach the hotel room and Brooke sits on Michael's bed, and he disappears into the bathroom.

"Michael? Where are you going?"

"AHA!" He emerges, clutching the dirty laundry bag, and pulls out a suitcase, grinning. "I thought it might be here."

Brooke laughs. "And why did you need that just now?"

"Because of this." He opens it and pulls out a small box, made with inlaid wood and mother of pearl. He smiles, embarrassed, as he hands it to her.

"Michael..." she whispers, and opens it. It's a necklace and bracelet, made up irregularly shaped silver hoops linked together. In a few of the hoops, the empty space in the middle of the circle have photographs covered with glass, one of them holding hands, another of them asleep, curled up together, and another of them kissing.

"I love it. Michael. I love you. I can't believe it." she says, without looking up, simply looking at the photographs in awe.

He smiles warmly, takes the necklace from her hands, unclasps it, and reattaches it around her neck. The silver feels cool against her neck, and his fingers warmly ticklish. He arranges it carefully, then pulls her to him to kiss her. "Merry Christmas, Brooke. Even though--"

"I don't care if you don't celebrate it. It's Merry Christmas anyway. Love you, Michael. Love you so much."

"Love you more." He pulls away and brings her back to the window, staring out. "Look at this."

"What do you mean?" She looks out to the park they recently walked in. "We were just there."

"Look again." He's smiling, and his arm is still around her wait. "Look."

She looks out at the path where they had walked, and sees. Two pairs of footprints, wandering through the snow together, slowly disappearing as the endless snowfall fills them in. Though their physical remains slowly blend into the rest of the perfect beauty, they also live forever.


End file.
